'The cause of death's a bit more exact, isn't it, sir?'

'Oh, yes.' Dalziel rippled through the papers scattered on the desk before him. Pascoe tried to show none of the offence this lack of organization caused him. 'Here we are. Skull fracture… bone splinters into frontal lobes… blow from a metal implement, probably cylindrical… administered with great force to the centre of forehead… perhaps long enough to permit a twohanded grip. That's a great help. Found anything yet, have they?'

'No, sir.'

'I should bloody well think not, eh? Not if you knew and I didn't. Where is this man, anyway?' Pascoe pushed back his stiffly laundered white cuffs to glance at his watch.

The car went for him half an hour ago.'

'Waiting for him to finish breakfast, I expect. Hearty, I hope. He'll need his strength.'

Pascoe raised his eyebrows.

'I thought you said…' 'I didn't think he'd done it? But I might be wrong. It's been known. Twice. But whether he did it or not, if it wasn't done casually by an intruder, he'll probably know why it was done. He might not know he knows. But know he will.'

'Have we dismissed the possibility of an intruder, sir?'

'We? We? You're not my bloody doctor. No, I haven't. But if you look at your bloody scientifically based reports,. you'll see that she seems to have been sitting very much at her ease.' 'Could it have been from behind? With, say, a narrowheaded hammer. That way you'd get the force…' 'Pish and cobbles, Pascoe! Didn't you see the height of that chair-back? And she was sprawling in it at her ease. You'd need arms like an orang-outang. No, I think it was someone she knew pretty well.'

'And how narrow does that make the field?'

Dalziel grinned lecherously. 'Not as narrow as you'd think. Twenty years ago there were a hell of a lot of people down at the Rugby Club who knew Mary James pretty well. I've had a bit of a nuzzle there myself. And that kind of acquaintance doesn't get forgotten all that quickly.'